Marrocs Tale, Part 2: Orphaned
by Hippy Hobbit
Summary: The sequal to 'Marrocs Tale, Part 1: Short-Lived Childhood'. Marroc Took, one of the Took cousins, goes through life which isn't always easy. CHAPTER 3
1. Prolouge

~*~*~*~ Marroc's Tale: Part 2: Orphaned Prologue By Hippy Hobbit Dedicated to Niph  
  
(A/N: Welcome back! This chapter is mainly a re-cap of what happens on the night of Tarroc and Maggie's last journey to the time when the first chapter of 'Orphaned', which takes place a few years after 'Childhood', when Marroc is the age of 10. It is mainly bits and pieces of unconnected material, so enjoy and also look for the review replies at the end of the prologue) ~*~*~*~  
  
The child walked along the path, brushing a few rather annoying curls from his eyes as the winter winds blew. His hands and forehead were still bandaged and he still had a pip of a cough, but his aunt and uncle had allowed him to go outside, for the first time in a while.  
  
With a bag of chicken feed, he walked briskly to the Brandyhall coops, snow crunching under his feet, which were wrapped in rabbit skins to keep them warm- Esmeralda had insisted upon it. The boots were big on the boy, and he kept tripping and falling flat on his face. Water, which had only recently been snow, dripped from his curls and his cheeks were tinged with pinkness and cold.  
  
Opening up the coop door, he stuck his head inside, making a soft clucking noise with his tongue and teeth. The chickens were rather quiet today, he noted as he walked in.  
  
He dumped the feed on the ground. Instantly, most of the hens on the top level flew down and began to eat, so he started removing their eggs from the nests and filling up his basket. Once finished with that, he started removing the sleeping hens from the bottom levels and throwing them down to get the eggs and also wake them up.  
  
*CLOPSNUFF*  
  
'Merry?' the little boy peeked his head out the door. Nothing. Slowly, he stepped out. 'Merry?' the noise came again.  
  
*CLOPSNUFF*  
  
He walked along the coop, looking for where the noise was coming from. He was sure it was his cousin, probably playing a trick on him like the nasty fella he could sometimes be. But still, there was nothing, so he decided to go back to the coop and finish collecting the eggs. But before he could make it... *SNORT* he whipped around.  
  
There stood a pure charcoal black horse with gleaming red eyes.  
  
'S-Storm?!'  
  
The beast tossed her head, as if to say 'Yes...it is I. She started to paw at the snow with her massive left hoof, fiery red eyes glaring determinedly at him.  
  
He dropped his basket, breaking all the eggs he'd collected. But it didn't matter. Not even a half a moment later, Storm charged at him. Jumping, he climbed up the side of the coop. Storm was there now. She reared up and kicked out, narrowly missing the lad's head. But she did manage to break a hole in the wall.  
  
'MERRY!' he screamed at the top of his lungs. The horse tried to bite his backside, but he kicked out, hitting her square in the face.  
  
'MERRY! She tried to bite his leg again, but he drew it away. She snapped again, her front half still partially stuck in the coop. She snapped once more, and this time caught his foot in her chops. He screamed a shrill shriek as the horses teeth dug into his flesh, ripping off both the boot, and some of his skin and hair as well.  
  
Red... he could see blood dripping from his foot.  
  
The horse kicked up again and broke another hole higher up in the wall this time, missing her target again.  
  
He screamed for his cousin one final time.  
  
'MERRY!'  
  
Storm gave a sudden whinny, as if in immense pain. The boy could vaguely see Merry, running towards him, bow in hand and quiver on his back. He shot the mare once more and she stumbled, but recovered herself quickly. Turning towards her new foe, she ran. Her previous target could see two arrows sticking out of her hide.  
  
'MERRY! LOOK OUT!' Merry gave one finally shot, just in time. The arrow flew fast and true, straight into the creature's neck. She fell with a *THUD*, jarred a few times, and then moved no more.  
  
Merry dropped his bow and ran over to the coop. Some hens had gotten out and were pecking around in the snow, which was red from blood of some of the more unfortunate chickens that had been crushed. Merry scooped his cousin up in his arms.  
  
'Marroc!' he cried, relieved, hugging him close. Marroc's eyes were wide with fear. He wrapped his arms tightly around Merry's neck, a dazed look on his face,  
  
'Where are my parents?'...  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
No one had seen a single tear fall from Marroc's eyes, but he was not the same little hobbit most residents of Brandyhall had grown to know and love. He clung to Merry constantly and would sulk continuously if he was ever left without him.  
  
After Maggie and Tarroc were found dead, and Storm was killed by Merry, it was time to set the Buckland-Took's affairs in order. Nearly everything was left to their son, although he was too young to do many of the things, such as own a house. The deeds for the house, and also the small fortune that he'd inherited were stored at Brandyhall, according to Tarroc's last will and testimony, which stated that Saradoc Brandybuck would be the holder, if Marroc had not reached proper age. Marroc would be allowed to 'dip into' the inheritance, however, if he ever needed to.  
  
One thing that was not said in Tarroc's will was what would happen to his son should both parents die, and since the inevitable had happened, it was now time for the elders of Brandyhall to decide this. Saradoc, mostly convinced by his wife, had chosen to take in the boy for the time being; however, he filled out proper adoption papers for his nephew, should anyone chose to provide him with a good home and family.  
  
Only two days after Merry had killed Storm, it was time to decide where Maggie and Tarroc would be buried. Saradoc, who was originally in charge of this idea, had decided to leave it to his nephew. So, he sought him out one dreary winter day, only to find him in his own study. His nose and hands were pressed against the window, wide, green eyes staring out blankly to the cold, gray snow.  
  
A carriage drawn by two ponies was out there. The ponies coats were so white, so pure, that it made the snow look gray around them. Or, it could've been that Marroc was just so used to seeing Storm in his nightmares, it made them look so...kind... and pure.  
  
'Marroc?' Saradoc peeked his head in.  
  
Marroc didn't turn, but he still spoke, and his tone frightened the Master greatly. It was lifeless...hopeless...cold. Like the snow.  
  
'It's Yuletide today, Uncle. They said they'd be back on Yuletide. And they are.' He pointed dully out the window to the carriage, where two hobbits where carrying a oak casket between them. They set it out on two cinder blocks that were raised in the snow, then went back to get the other.  
  
Saradoc walked in closer, then bent down beside his nephew, putting a hand on his shoulder. Marroc didn't recoil or anything.  
  
'Yes. It is Yuletide. I have a present for you. Father Yule wanted me to give it to you. I met him last night. Said he went to your house, but you weren't there, so he came here instead, knowing how fond you are of your cousin, Merry.'  
  
He took from his pocket a bar, wrapped in green paper. It was about 5 inches long and a half of an inch thick. One look at it and Marroc could already tell what it was. Only Father Yule brought chocolate, and he was only allowed to have it at this time of year, because it made him to hyper.  
  
He gave his uncle a small smile.  
  
'Thank you.'  
  
Saradoc laughed. ' Don't thank me! Father Yule brought it! I still haven't given you the present from me, Aunty Essie, and Merry yet.'  
  
He then took from his pocket a beautiful book with a soft leather cover. The leather was dyed an emerald green, like the color of Marroc's eyes, and across the center read the words 'Marroc's Tale'.  
  
Marroc took the book in his hands, in wonder at the beautiful book. His mouth opened for a moment as he felt the soft material in his hands. He opened the cover and ran his fingers over the soft parchment inside.  
  
The bright look in Marroc's once dull eyes made Saradoc himself smile.  
  
'Your...your mother said you've been learning to write. This is a journal for you... you write about yourself in it. About your life.'  
  
Marroc blinked his big eyes.  
  
'Thank...you...'  
  
'Oh, yeah...' he put his hand back in his pocket and pulled out a bottle of green ink, a reed pen, and a small knife. 'These are for you too. Here, sit down...' he started to show Marroc how to sharpen the reed with the knife and dip it into the ink to write.  
  
They'd been in there for almost an hour, before...  
  
'Master?' the door opened, and Sandy, Saradoc's personal attendant poked his head in, 'Master, they're ready for you.' His eyes fell on Marroc, who was sitting on the desk, his legs dangling over as Saradoc taught him.  
  
'Oh... right. I still haven't asked him yet...' he turned to Marroc, '...you are allowed to choose-'  
  
'Marcho.'  
  
'Huh?'  
  
'Marcho. I want them buried by Marcho...'  
  
(A/N: here's a question for y'all. Should 'will and testimony' be capitalized? I was just wondering that. Sorta tired, yah know... stayed up all night last night watching Fruit's Basket at my friend's father's bar. It was awesome (and no, I didn't drink anything -–'). But I have got that annoyingly cute theme song stuck in my head. That should be Marroc's Song. Just kidding. Marroc has too many songs. Woot... look at me ramble. 'Kay, shutting up now.  
  
Also, I do believe that hobbits ought to have adoption papers, and wills. Its just sort of in their nature, you know? They're very organized. I dunno, I just always imagined they would. Sue me if you think they wouldn't. Goodness... need to get to bed.  
  
Niph- Have a heckuva time in Mexico. I wish you the best of luck and much fun and burritos (I'm so stereotypical). But you should've come to my house instead of Mexico. Oh well. You're forgiven. *does the fwippy hair face* //.^  
  
Elessar*Lover: Oh hush, won't you? Just kidding... You're awesome. My first fan who has absolutely nothing to do with the future of the story (or has nothing to do with one of the people who have to do with the future of the story. Seriously, I promise I'll stop rambling. x.X)  
  
Aredhel: You're so evil. Why wont you review? *prods most vigorously with furry hobbit toe*  
  
Axis: (if you ever read) See? This is why Marroc is so messed up in the head!  
  
Aragorn: Same to you as what I said to Axis. Oh yeah, oy-vey.  
  
Pipinheart: You don't like Tarroc? Aww.. *sniffle*...he was good, deep down. You'll find out more. And the reason Merry is so mean...well, I remember MY elder cousins were always rather mean to me as well... but he'll get nicer ^^ ) 


	2. Do it anyways

~*~*~*~  
  
Marroc's Tale, Part 2: Orphaned  
  
By Hippy Hobbit  
  
Chapter 1: 'Do It Anyways'  
  
Dedicated to Niph  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The wind and the gale beat up against the porch.  
  
~I'm sorry, papa~  
  
The boy looked inside the beautiful book, which was half hidden under a blanket to keep it from the rain.  
  
~I'm sorry, papa. I should've forgiven you. I should've forgiven you. I should've forgiven you. You said you was sorry. I should've forgiven you. You should've been forgiven.~  
  
  
  
He still held the reed in his hand. Teeth marks put small dents in the top from when he'd stuck it in his mouth while thinking about what to write. The book had remained empty, except for that one page, for three years.  
  
The inkwell sat on the chair's armrest, next to him. It was still nearly full and in perfect condition, only opened once.  
  
He lifted the pen and wrote, turning to the next clean page:  
  
'I don't want to go to Hobbiton.'  
  
Only a few days before hand,, it had been decided that Marroc was to be moving to Hobbiton. To Bag End, to be more precise. Bilbo Baggins, has he had done a few years back. The decision had been made without Marroc's discretion. This had angered him greatly. He never knew how much of a burden he'd been on his Uncle.  
  
He knew, of course, he was often in the way, not being his real son. Like when they'd go to family get-togethers. Marroc felt out of place, especially when people he'd never met before would come up and ask him if he was the Master's boy. The bad thing was that they'd always do it with a certain air of disgust, as though he were the previously-unknown product of a night at the bar with too much to drink and too much pleasurable company.  
  
But then came the REAL shocker.  
  
'Uh... no. I'm Tarroc's son.'  
  
Tarroc, oh! Heavens forbid! Not HIM! You poor child! All the responses were the same, although they were never spoken. But Brandybucks had the gift for reading eyes. And Marroc was 1/2 Brandybuck.  
  
Thunder echoed from somewhere far off, drawing Marroc away from his thoughts. He blinked his big eyes and looked down at his book.  
  
What had once been a blank page was now filled with green ink. He hadn't realized completely that he'd been writing all his thoughts. He read them over a few times, then covered up the book in order to avoid another gust of rain that was blown in.  
  
The sound of hooves soon approached. Marroc jumped and tensed, looking around and listening carefully.  
  
The hooves were not heavy, like a ponys, but light and dis-jointed. He blinked.  
  
Merry knew he'd be able to find his little cousin here.  
  
'Marroc! You're going to catch your death!' he was leading the infamous Butch on a leash. The goat bleated happily when it saw it's master.  
  
Marroc smiled as Butch trotted over and lay his head on his knee. Marroc ruffled his ears like a dog.  
  
'Hiya, Butch. Merry.'  
  
Merry frowned.  
  
'He missed you, you know. You should take him too, next time.'  
  
Marroc smiled and ruffled the goat's ears again, absent-mindedly.  
  
'He was sleeping and he gets angry when I wake him up.'  
  
Merry shook his head and suppressed a laugh. He would never understand his little cousin.  
  
'Are you ready to go to Bag End?'  
  
Marroc blinked.  
  
'I...I don't want to go to Hobbiton, Merry.'   
  
This caused Merry to frown. He bent down and scooped up Marroc- blankets, book and all- into his arms.  
  
'Why not?'  
  
'We went there once. They called me 'queer''  
  
Merry laughed loudly.  
  
'It's the curse of being a Bucklander, lad! Everywhere you go in this Shire, folk are gonna call you 'queer', just 'cause you're from Buckland.'  
  
He gave Marroc a small smile.  
  
'Be proud. If they call you that again, say 'Thank you very much.' It's a compliment, after all.'  
  
Marroc still frowned.  
  
'I still don't want to move there.'  
  
'Why? Bilbo's nice, you know.'  
  
'He...he yelled at me.'  
  
This caused the Brandybuck to scoff.  
  
'You gave Frodo dung-stuffed mushrooms!'  
  
'It was Pippin's fault too! He didn't get yelled at.' Marroc growled, sourly.  
  
Merry rolled his eyes. It was useless to argue.  
  
'Let's go home. You still need to finish packing anyway.'  
  
'I'll do it tomorrow.'  
  
'No, you wont. We're leaving early in the morning for Hobbiton. You wont have any time.'  
  
'So then you're taking me?'  
  
'Yeah. What? I'll be staying there for a little bit as well, visitin' Frodo.'  
  
'Oh. Alright then.'  
  
He clung to Merry as the elder adjusted him in his arms. Lying his head on Merry's shoulder, he closed his eyes.  
  
'Merry?' Merry has started walking back towards Brandyhall, having gathered up Marrocs things.  
  
'Hm?'  
  
'Why are we called 'queer'?'  
  
'Because we fool around on boats and such, according to some. Don't let it get to you, lad. We're not queer. The lot of them are.'  
  
There was a moment's silence.  
  
'Really? Can I call them that?'  
  
'No! Don't be mean, Marroc Took. Just ignore them if they make fun of you.  
  
'What if I can't?'  
  
Merry blinked.  
  
'Do it anyways.'  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
A/N: Gosh, doncha just love Marroc? He is such a CUTIE! You could eat 'im up! ^^   
  
Also Butch... he is a lot like a puppy dog, isn't he? My friend Sarah is getting two goats. I think she should name them Peppercorn and Merrimack ^^  
  
Do you have any suggestions for goat names? Post them! ^^  
  
I also suggested 'Nefartiticus the Great', but she seemed to strongly oppose it. I wonder why. Its such an awesome name.  
  
Niph: Have fun?  
  
Elessar*Lover: We've got such a strange love-hate relationship.   
  
Pipinheart: Yeah. Merry is pretty cool, ain't he?  
  
~Hippy 


	3. Trottin' along

  
  
Marroc's Tale Part 2  
  
By Hippy Hobbit  
  
Chapter 2:  
  
Dedicated to Niph  
  
(A/N: Hey! Look! An update! And you lot thought I was dead! HA! You silly people! hides all evidence of previous demise using Mary Kay supplies)  
  
The pony trotted briskly along the dirt road, two sets of blondish curls blowing behind in the slow breeze that drifted through and around Bywater.   
  
The two Bucklanders sat on the old, rickety, but faithful cart, with Butch peeking his head over the back gate. One of Marrocs hands was clasped on to his cousins jacket, the other pushed awkwardly into his mouth as a toddler might do instead of a child of nearly ten years. His emerald eyes were dank and not yielding any information on his current moods or feelings as he stared, unblinkingly, at the road ahead.  
  
'MARROC!' Merry had turned around, 'Take it out! Now!'   
  
Sulking a little, the younger hobbit obediently removed his hand from his mouth and dropped it to his side a pouty lip sticking out instead.  
  
'You don't want Bilbo and Frodo to think you're a baby, do you?' Merry asked, sternly.  
  
'Well?!'  
  
Marroc stared at him like a shamed puppy, and then shook his head, curls bouncing up and down.  
  
'Then make sure you don't do that. You're not a baby- I know that,' Merry said. His little cousin was made of sterner stuff then he often portrayed, especially when he sucked on his fingers like that, 'Make sure your cousins know that as well.'   
  
In truth, Merry felt bad that Marroc was leaving them. For the last three years, he'd grown used to hearing the pitter-pattering of Marrocs feet behind him anywhere he went. And though it made him feel like a mother duck, he grew to enjoy the maternal feeling. He was growing used to having Marroc wait at the edge of his bed every morning, waiting for his big cousin to get up, but also not wanting to disrupt his slumber by waking him. At first, he'd enter the Brandybuck's room and wait by the door for his older cousin. But after a while, he got to sitting on the bed next to him, or sitting on the ground, perhaps reading one of Merry's books. But within a few weeks, wee Marroc was snuggling under the covers with his cousin.  
  
Not that Merry minded one bit. He was growing rather close to the little one, and his father -had- told him that he'd better be nice to him, what with not having any family- close family- to rely upon... Merry was the closest he had now, or felt he'd had.  
  
The light-haired Brandybuck remembered the day of the funeral with a bit of heartache, now that he looked back on it as he drove the pony along.  
  
Few hobbits had actually wanted to go into the Old Forest to pay their respects towards the dead couple. But Marroc had asked for his parents to find their final resting place there, and so, his wishes were granted, despite the uproar that had been held in response. Many had disagreed, but  
  
It was a cold winter day when the funeral was held, Merry remembered. Some of the men-folk had been up all night, trying to dig proper graves in the frozen grounds. But in the end, Maggie and Tarroc were buried and proper headstones were placed upon their graves, each reading something that had been wished for by the majority of each of their families/friends.  
  
For Maggie, the inscription read:  
  
"Flower of Brandyhall,   
  
Beautiful,   
  
Generous,  
  
Brave,  
  
Lies here now in this humble grave;   
  
Strong in soul, strong in life,  
  
Wonderful mother, Charming wife."  
  
And for Tarroc, 'twas carved simply his name.  
  
The actual ceremony was short, mostly containing of family members remembering the darling Maggie, so beautiful, even when she was so long out of youth. Not much was said of Tarroc, as none of his immediate family chose to attend, apart from Marroc.  
  
The lad was sitting in the spot right at the end of the two freshly dug graves, rather then standing, but no one chose to comment to the orphan on proper funeral etiquette. Merry had watched him the entire time, instead of the few speakers. The younger boy made no movement at all the entire time, no show of emotion.   
  
He didn't even cry.  
  
After everything was said and done, the coffins were lowered in, and people began to disperse. Merry walked up to the boy, who hadn't moved from his spot.  
  
"Hey, you. How're you feeling?"  
  
"I'm okay." Came the emotionless answer.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Marrocs eyes darted up to where his cousins face was, pale in the small amount of sunlight. He forced a smile and nodded.  
  
The smile made Merry feel a little weak. He knew Marroc couldn't possible be -happy- about this, could he? No. Marroc actually -HAD- a heart, unlike his father. The boy had to be breaking inside.  
  
"Al-alright. Let's go, then, shall we?" he offered his cousin a hand to pull him up. But Marroc shook his head.  
  
"I'm gonna stay here a bit longer, okay?" Ah. There is was.  
  
"Okay. But not too late. I'm gonna be back in a few hours to get you..."  
  
"Okay. Bye, Merry."  
  
"Bye."  
  
And then, suddenly, they were there. The large door of Bag End stood before them, and Marroc tugged at Merrys sweater.  
  
"Merry..." his small murmur was heard at Merrys elbow.  
  
Merry jumped, startled.  
  
"Well? What are you waiting for?! Go knock, Marroc!"  
  
A/N: Its here! Its here! Yayyy! Alright, so, I don't know if you can tell, but this story is very moody. It only gets written when it wants to be, never before. So, blame it on the story! Not me! cowers  
  
Uhm...I'm not going to answer reviews from last chapter, but I would like to thank everyone who did read and review. You guys ROCK!  
  
In other news, Sarah got her goats... but the silly fecker hasn't named them yet! I will update you when she does, though.  
  
Hippy 


End file.
